Page 9 of Murder in Calusa Cove
“Yeah, sure. You know the code.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She took her phone and pulled up the rideshare app. “Crap.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Why are there never any rideshares in this town?”
He chuckled. “Fletcher and Keaton are at Mitchell’s. I’ll text them. I’m sure one of them can give you a lift to my place.” He leaned closer, kissing her cheek. “Let me know when you get to my house so I know you’ve arrived safely.” He was always a gentleman. Always thinking of others.
“Will do, and be safe out here.”
“I always am.”
She raised up on tiptoe, staring at a man chewing on something, leaning against a tree across the road. Lots of people had come out and huddled together in the street to see what had happened. That would always be the case when the police and fire trucks were involved. But it was rare that anyone lurked in the shadows by themselves. “Who’s that guy over there?”
“You can’t ever give your FBI instincts a rest, can you?” Hayes glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “That’s Dewey Hale, the resident mangrove trimmer.”
“I feel like I’ve seen him before.”
“You have. A few times. He’s a local legend of sorts. He takes care of the mangrove, but he’s also a humanitarian, known for volunteering across the state during tropical storms and hurricanes. He’s a good guy, just a little strange.”
“How strange?”
Hayes snorted, shaking his head. “Not in a bad way. He’s always minding his own business, but he’s always just kind of there…observing.”
“I’m going to text Buddy to question him.”
“Dawson already did.” He held up his hand. “Not sure if I should’ve told you that, so I’m not going to say anymore.”
“Fair enough.” She squeezed Hayes’s biceps. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Get some sleep, Chloe.” He smiled.
Tucking a stray strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear, she took off toward the marina. She felt better about coming clean over her betrayal, but she had no idea what Hayes—or even Dawson—would make of her next confession.
But it was time to get it out in the open. She couldn’t hide behind her badge any longer, and what did keeping the fact that her sister had been murdered by the same killer that tormented the fabric of her being matter anyway?
It didn’t. If anything, the idea of letting out that piece of truth felt freeing.
3
The smell of singed wood mixed with a sense of danger and dread lingered in the air. It clung to Hayes’s pores like thick humidity on the hottest summer day. Half the town had come out. People milled about just past the police barricade. It wasn’t uncommon in a small town like Calusa Cove, where the population hovered under five hundred. Everyone knew everyone, and that meant everyone knew each other’s business.
Hayes had grown up in a close-knit community. If he or any of his siblings had misbehaved, everyone in the church would have known, and someone was bound to make an example out of them for their bad choices. There was no such thing as privacy in his childhood home or his parents’ church.
When he’d first moved to Calusa Cove, he’d figured things wouldn’t be much different. However, this town seemed to be built on secrets. His buddy Ken had had them. Paul Massey had kept a remarkable secret for decades. He turned, staring out toward the depths of the Everglades. They seemed to hold a million skeletons.
“Hayes. Hayes Bennett,” an all too familiar female voice cut through the noise. It grated on his last nerve. He didn’t want to turn around and deal with the woman attached to it. She was nothing but trouble. Glancing toward the night sky, lit up by the stars and half-moon, he sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“Are you seriously going to stand there with your back to me, ignoring me?” Stacey asked.
“I’m thinking about it.” He turned, looping his fingers in his suspenders. “What do you want, Stacey?” He glared but was thankful she hadn’t approached with her camera crew and microphone. She was good at railroading people.
“An interview, of course.” She smiled. “I heard you were the first firefighter inside and the one who found the body.”
That wasn’t a false statement, but it wasn’t entirely true. However, Dawson and Buddy had made it clear that no one was to speak with the press. Not tonight, anyway. And if there was going to be communication with the media, it would come from Dawson, or Buddy, or the Detective from State, Lester.
“No comment,” he said, smugly, and he enjoyed it, too. Maybe a little too much.
